Return
by losamantesclandestinos
Summary: They love each other. They've always loved each other. Walking away isn't forgetting. An EO story set post-Surrender Benson.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: Characters and recognizable dialogue belong to NBC and Dick Wolf. Lyrics from "Every Time You Go Away" by Paul Young and "Forgiven" by Within Temptation. Story is mine.

_Author's note_: I got the inspiration for this from a gif made by Jaz and from the fact that I wanted to give some kind of closure to myself from Stabler's departure. Any mistakes are mine, I've never really written this pairing before.

Chapter One: **The Leaving**

_And every time you go away_

_You take a piece of me with you_

_**The Past - May 18, 2011**_

The squad room is a scene from hell. You're kneeling by Sister Peg's body, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. _Hold on, Peg, hold on_, you plead underneath your breath, tears of shock flooding your eyes. But you hold them back because there's no time for tears.

And your throat is aching from the screams that you're tamping down. _How did it come to this_? And now there's no pulse at all and you know she's gone. And you want to weep, to scream, to mourn, but you can't, there's still so much damage to repair. So many bodies.

You look over at your partner of twelve years and he's on his knees, cradling the teenager he shot in his arms. To save another life. You wish you were over there but you can't move. Can't leave Peg alone because that would be too cruel. She deserves better and you reach a shaking hand towards her head. You can't leave her alone. Not like this.

As if in a blur, you hear Cragen barking orders. You can't bring yourself to respond, it's like you're underwater and everything around you is just so surreal. And you can't stop looking at your partner.

El's cradling Jenna, rocking her close to him, trying to staunch the blood flowing from her chest. And even from where you are, which isn't so far away but right now it feels like miles and miles, you can see the blood coming out of her mouth. Tears start rolling down your face but you can barely feel them. You've seen too many wounds like Jenna's and you know what's coming next.

Jenna's speaking to Elliot and he's trying to telling her to hold on, that the bus will be right here in a moment, and please don't let go. Because she's just a child and she shouldn't be bleeding out on a dirty New York squad room floor. She should be trying on dresses for the prom, giggling and laughing about boys, …she should be… anywhere but here.

Anywhere but on this floor. But the words are getting stuck in his throat.

The EMTs have arrived and they're gently trying to pry Elliot from her body. One of them, a petite blonde that reminds you a little of Kathy, places a hand on his shoulder and says some words that he can't hear. He stands up and backs away from the body, still staring.

Only then does he turn around and really look at you.

Hell is in his eyes. Everything is so raw. He's shattered.

_It just feels like we keep failing her._

You're silent because there's no words you can say. He's killed a child and there is nothing that will ever make that okay. Sister Peg is dead and there's nothing that will ever make that okay, either. The floor is littered with the bodies of the dead and the air is littered with the words that you leave unspoken.

You've seen him devastated over cases before, he takes so many of them so personally. But you've never seen him this… broken. And part of you realizes at that moment that he's done. It's not a conscious thought, really, simply a quick flash of instinct which you soon push out of your mind. But later, much later, you remember.

He quits at approximately 5:30pm in the afternoon in the middle of the rubble of the squad room.

**_Several months later_ – _September 2011_**

_Couldn't save you from the start_

_Love you so much that it hurts my soul._

"Liv, could I see you for a moment, please?" Cragen calls you into his office one Tuesday afternoon. It's been gray, dismal, and _dark_ all afternoon. It's been like that ever since the Towers fell, ever since the bloodbath at the squad room. The stains are out of the floor but you can swear you can still see them. They'll never really be gone.

You're not sure what this is all about but you take one look at Cragen's eyes. He's good at keeping his face relatively impassive but you can always figure what he's going to say from the eyes.

Today you just see sorrow and resignation. And you brace yourself.

"_Elliot put in his papers." _Cragen breaks it to you gently. And time stops. For a moment all you can do is stare at him, stare at the clock on his desk. You've completely forgotten about the unfinished DD5s on your desk. Forgotten about everything.

It's 5:30pm in the afternoon.

Something within you breaks. Not with a bang, not with an explosion, but with the soft sign of an autumn leaf falling on the browning grasses of country fields.

Cragen's words are a death knell to your hopes. You had known that Jenna's death (and Peg's) had devastated El and that it would take _years _for him to cope with what happened that day. Hell, it's been months, and you're not nearly over it. Never would be.

The stains will never be erased. Not completely.

It hasn't helped that he never calls, never writes. He walked out that day and never looked back.

You'd hoped that the two of you would be together again, closer than most husbands and wives. Closer than blood kin. You couldn't ever imagine working with – and, if the truth be told, _being with – _anyone else.

"_I'm your partner, for better or worse."_

And you flash back to that moment from months ago. How could you ever forget? It's burned, branded in your memory. The hands of the clock pointed at 5:30.

As much as you want to be angry at him – _why are you abandoning me? When I need you _, you really can't be. There were so many casualties that day, your partnership was just one of them.

You've known this was coming but had pushed it down. Pushed it down and lived on your hopes and dreams. They've been your food and drink keeping you going for the past several months. Thinking that you would come back and he'd be there with that slight smile on his face and the small light in his blue eyes.

The light you know is just for you.

But you really should have known better. He wasn't coming back.

Yet you still wait. For the phone call that never comes.

_**One Month Later – October 2011**_

_He'll come back to visit, but not to stay, not to live. ~ _Joseph Jackson

After the fortieth attempt at reaching El, you've decided to give it a rest. _He'll get back in touch with you when he feels ready_, you tell yourself, trying to convince yourself that he'll come back.

Healing takes time. And even then time can never erase the past. Only blur the lines.

In the meantime, you're babysitting two new members of your squad; Amanda Rollins, up from Atlanta and Nick Amaro, transfer from Warrants. You're pleased to have another female in the squad and you've connected with the tough, scrappy detective with the accent as thick as molasses but you're still not sure about Amaro.

He's not Elliot. He'll never be Elliot. And you don't _want_ a new partner

At first, Cragen's given you some latitude because he understands. He hasn't talked to you much about that day, apart from official reports and interviews with the necessary parties, but after twelve years, you know him.

There are moments when he doesn't think you're watching that he'll look over at the desk where Elliot used to sit. And a haunted look will cross his face and his eyes...the look in his eyes...You know it well because you see that look every day in the mirror.

But finally even he's had his limit with what he calls your moping.

"_Elliot's not coming back, Liv_."

You get angry because you know that but does he have to say those words out loud? Does he have to make it all real?

"_It takes me twice as long to explain the job to someone else as it does to do it myself."_ You complain, knowing that you sound petulant, but you don't really give a shit. You hurt and you miss him and you don't want to fucking babysit two new rookies that you never asked for anyways.

"_It's not your call."_ He snaps firmly. He's been fairly understanding with you but he's reached his limit. "_Now you want to be here, you're going to have to work with other detectives, all right? Now_," and he gentles his voice a little bit, "_let him go_."

How can he ask you that? It's like asking you to let part of yourself go.

Because that's what Elliot is – a part of you. And how can you just forget?

"Look, Olivia," Cragen says quietly, looking past the surface to the turmoil beneath, "I'm not asking you to forget. But you..._we_...have all got to move on. Things change, life changes. We have to roll with the punches. _And you can start by packing up his desk_." He looks at you, and there's a trace of sadness on his face.

"_We can't keep it as a shrine_."

You shake yourself out of the memories. It still hurts to remember gently packing up all of Elliot's things, cleaning off his desk. Knowing someone new will be sitting there.

He's really gone.

"Hi, Olivia, " a friendly voice greets you and you push the pain down, like you always do, and stand and greet Sherri West with a friendly face and a big hug.

"_Sherri West, for the defense." _You grin. "It's good to see you. _She used to be on our team._"

"_Yeah, we've met_." Says Amaro casually, strolling over with a grin and a little barb. "_How's the private sector?_

"_Don't judge_." Sherri grins. "_I had a mountain of student debt and a serious shoe fetish_. _They made me an offer I couldn't refuse."_

"_Detective." _Another voice, a strange one, interjects itself into your conversation. You turn around only to see a cop you've never met before. And he hands you a small package.

Taking it over to your desk, you remove a small envelope from the package.

And your heart stops.

You know that writing. Know it almost as well as you know your own.

_Semper Fi – **El**_

_**Always faithful.**_

There are no other words, just those two. No "how are you?" No "I miss you." But, then again, you both are far beyond those simple pleasantries.

And on the other side of the small packet is Elliot's Marine Corps medallion. The one he always had with him. You can't ever remember seeing him without it. It was as much a part of him as his blood.

And now he's given that to you.

"_I'm your partner. For better or worse."_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: _Recognizable dialogue and characters belong to NBC and Dick Wolf. Lyrics are from 'Memories' by Within Temptation and 'A Storm is Going To Come' by Piers Faccini.

Chapter 2: **I'm Your Partner**

_**May 22 2013**_

_All of my memories keep you near_

_In silent moments_

_Imagine you'd be here_

Years have passed now and you've managed to make somewhat of a life for yourself without him. Managed to convince yourself (enough to fake it, at least) and others that you've moved on. That everything is okay.

But the truth is, you still call him from time to time. For whatever reason, he hasn't changed his number and he could have. Especially after the fiftieth message you've left since he left two years ago. But that's Elliot, he never was too good with change. Even changing his damn number. He never's done that.

This comforts you because you know your old partner is still in there somewhere. Whatever he's been through, whatever demons he's fighting, the real Elliot Stabler is still alive. Somewhere.

_I'd give you a kidney._

And a small part of you still keeps faith that he'll return to you. And it'll be as it was before.

_Not if I gave you mine first._

_The ones we love never really leave us. Not forever. _

But the larger part of you knows that's simple wishful thinking. That even if he came back, things will never quite be the same. How could they be? He walked away and left you behind. No matter how much you pretend that you're fine, you're really not.

The truth is you've not forgotten. You never will. And while you've forged a good partnership with Amaro, even an unique closeness that's entirely your own, he'll never be El. Even though you're not fine, you're okay with it. You have to be.

It's your new normal. It feels different and strange – like getting used to a prosthetic limb after losing one of your own. And sometimes you fumble around, looking for the limb that used to be there. But, all in all, it's working for you.

You've finally accepted that this is how it's going to be. _Nothing changes, except what has to_. He hasn't called you and, except for that package with his medallion, he hasn't kept in contact with you at all. But you try not to think about that because it just hurts too much. And you don't have time for that because the job takes too much out of you as it is.

Then, out of nowhere, like a sudden storm on a perfectly calm day, your world changes forever. Again. Just as you've gotten your equilibrium back and found your footing in this new world without your other half.

It starts with a note someone leaves on your desk. Things have been so busy in the squad that you don't notice everyone that comes in and out. It's in a plain envelope with your name on it, no postage, so obviously someone's hand delivered it. Sipping on what feels like your tenth cup of coffee that day, you open it and a plain piece of paper flutters out.

There's only one simple half sentence on it. But it's in that distinctive handwriting that you haven't seen in almost two years.

_For better or worse._

And you want to smile and cry at the same time.

_I'm your partner._

But you don't. You carry on as you always have.

It's what you do.

"What's goin' on, Liv?" Amaro comes up behind you. He's seen the look on your face and even though it's been just a couple years, he can read you fairly well. He may be hot tempered and a bit of a prick – like someone else you once knew better than you knew yourself – but he's a good partner and a good cop.

"Just a reminder from an old friend." You say simply, part of you breaking and part of you healing. At the same time.

Isn't it funny how something so simple can do that to you?

"Now, tell me about this man Rollins pulled us all in here on a Sunday to handle?" You quickly change the subject before Nick can question you further.

Rollins starts to explain what exactly happened. _"The perp...William Lewis...if that's his real name..he's got no ID...he says he's unemployed, lives at a halfway house in Brooklyn_."

"Does he have a record?"

"_Yeah, he should, but I can't find anything, because I can't run his prints."_

"_What are you talking about?"_ You ask because that's strange to you. Anyone can run prints. What exactly is going on here?

"His prints..._they're burned off. He claims it was a kitchen accident."_

"You're not buying it?"

"It just seems really convenient. And, I dunno, there's something really _off_ about this guy." Rollins seems troubled and while the rest of the squad doesn't necessarily share the depth of her concern, they respect her hunches. And so do you.

Lewis seems harmless enough, his crime a simple misdemeanor on the surface. But still waters run very, very deep and while the surface seems calm and pleasant enough, the depths are dark, so dark.

You interview him and by the time you're done, you want to take a shower. There's something so very, very wrong about Lewis but you can't really pin anything on him because he's slick, so slick. He's got an answer for everything. He dodges and he twists, he's worse than a snake.

And that smile? It chills you to the bone.

What you don't see is that you're at the edge of a very deep abyss and it isn't until you start to fall that you finally start to see the real danger. He's been playing with you, like a cat with a mouse and you don't see the claws before they're already around you.

You think that you've seen hell. But you haven't seen anything yet.

The nightmares are still to come.

_The thunder has begun_

_A storm is gonna come_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: '**Abyss' quote by Nietzsche. Lyrics from 'Dreaming With a Broken Heart' by John Mayer and 'The Call' by Regina Spektor. Recognizable dialogue and characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBC. _

_**November 29, 2013**_

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart_  
_The waking up is the hardest part_  
_You roll outta bed and down on your knees_  
_And for a moment you can hardly breathe_

Sixty days. It's been sixty days since your life changed forever for the second time. Sixty days of unending winter. The nights are longer and harsher now and you often find yourself waking up screaming, drenched in sweat, on the rare occasions where you allow yourself to fall to sleep. Most nights you simply sit up on your couch, glass of wine (or, in many cases, two or three glasses), staring out the window, your service gun never a few feet away from you.

You know he's lying there somewhere, in restraints, but that doesn't reassure you. The only thing that would reassure you at this point, you no longer have. It's been gone a long, long time. You've gotten accustomed to the absence now, made a space for it in your life, but you still walk around like one piece is missing.

He's not dead – that you're aware of - but sometimes it feels like he is. In the days following September 11, you'd look up and notice how empty the sky seemed without the presence of the Towers. For so long, the city was filled with those big, empty gaps, in the skyline and in hearts.

And there are some gaps that stay open and hollow, some spaces that are never filled, even though others now occupy them.

_My old partner, he would have known what to do…_

Your memories are a kaleidoscope of blood and tears now and they come to you in shades of orange and black. They push at you unrelentingly, with you all the time. You're trapped by them and you can never forget.

A sharp ring interrupts your brooding.

"Benson?" You hate how your voice is so shaky, so unsure. Two months later and you're still not the same person you were before William Lewis abducted you. And maybe you never will be. Maybe that Olivia is gone and buried six feet under. Along with many of your hopes and dreams.

You hate even more how you _still_, over two years later, pick up the phone hoping to hear that familiar voice on the other end. Sometimes you get so angry because you're trying so hard to move on and to forget and you just can't. No matter how hard you try.

"Hey, Liv." It's Nick. Checking on you. Again. For about the thirtieth time that week.

"Hey." And you're a little bit frustrated because what on earth can you talk about that you haven't already covered? And you really, _really_ don't want to talk about those four days. You just want to forget as best you can and at least try to get back to the person you were.

If that was even possible anymore.

What the hell? Miracles happen, right? At least El thought so. He always believed in those kinds of things. You were always skeptical.

After Sealview, after all the things you've seen, how could anyone even believe in God? Or miracles?

But El did. Always had.

"Nick, I'm fine," you say, slightly exasperated. "No need to keep checking up on me every…" _Bloody thirty minutes, it feels like_. "….few hours."

"I know, I know." He says and there's something in his voice that stops you. Something underneath the overprotective concern. Is it pain? It sounds a lot like blame. And you're going to stop that before it even starts.

You can't carry the weight of their misplaced guilt. It's too much.

"Nick, this wasn't your fault. This wasn't _any_ of the squad's fault…"

"We shoulda found you sooner, Liv." In your mind's eye, you can see his eyes, dark and haunted.

"Lewis was a clever bastard." You respond quietly. "That wasn't on you. None of this is on any of you."

"I should have protected you."

"I can protect myself, Nick." You say quietly, even though you've done a fucking piss poor job of it lately. "I don't need anyone to protect me."

But you really miss the one who did. The one who always had your back.

_And everything burns, it feels like all your flesh is on fire from the pain. You've screamed so much that your throat is raw and you can only talk in a whisper. There's not one inch of your body that he hasn't violated in one way or another._

_[__**Come on, baby, I'm going to make this real good for you. When I'm done, you're going to pray that I killed you in the beginning. I'm gonna make it so's that I'm always in your head. You'll never be rid of me]**_

"Liv? Liv…you still there?" Nick's voice pulls you out of that place where you always go these days. That dark and empty place. Where you remember.

"I'm here." But not really here. "Thanks for checking in, Nick, but I'll be fine."

You're always fine.

You have to be. You have no other choice.

And you gently hang up the phone.

You appreciate them checking in, you really do, especially now that Cassidy is gone. Has been gone awhile now. You can't really blame him too much for leaving, you'd shut him out so many times. He deserved better than what you were willing to give – what you were _able_ to give.

The Olivia he met, loved, made smart ass jokes with – she was a different person. You are no longer her.

_I am so sorry, Cassidy. Sorry I can't give you what you need. Be who you need me to be._

…...

_Knock, knock._

You close your eyes, maybe if you ignore it they'll go away. Why can't they just leave you _be_?

All you want is peace. Peace from all of it.

You're so tired and all you want to do is hide. Lindstrom says you'll get past that but you doubt that. How does anyone get past _any_ of this? You're a survivor, you always have been but even survivors have their breaking points.

You went far past yours those months ago. Parts of you shattered and you're still struggling to make yourself whole again.

The knock is harder now. Whoever it is won't give up. Sighing, you get off from your usual spot on the couch and shuffle to the door, glass of wine in hand. And you brace yourself for another round of polite chit chat that never gets past the surface. Small talk is fucking exhausting.

You always could do it fairly well before but now…you look at people and you wonder if they're couching their words to spare you. Are they treating you differently because of what you've been through? What you've suffered? You're not sure of people anymore. And it makes talking difficult because all of you are dancing around that elephant that never leaves the room.

No one talks about it. Not directly. This is both a frustration and a relief. You don't want to be treated like china but, at the same time, you don't want to go back there. Don't want to look down into the darkness. You already do too much of that when you're alone.

_And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you…_

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Dammit," you exclaim, now really annoyed, "I'll be right there."

_Fucking prick._

Taking a deep breath (_you can do this_), you open the door.

"Hello, Liv."

And time freezes.

_As you head off to the war_  
_Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light_  
_You'll come back when it's over_  
_No need to say goodbye_

People talk all the time about time standing still. But you've never experienced it yourself. Just a damn metaphor, you'd think.

But, no, it actually happens. For a moment, everything just stops.

It's the voice you've dreamed of hearing a thousand times. One that you've replayed over and over in your head when you were handcuffed to that bed.

The voice that kept telling you that you weren't a quitter and don't give that son of a bitch the satisfaction of seeing you break.

_My old partner, he'd know what to do…_

His hair has thinned more and you can see a lot of gray. But the blue eyes are the same. That goddamned smirk/smile is the same. And the look in his eyes he always had for you, _just for you_, is still the same.

Despite the weight of memories, the years have been good to Elliot Stabler. At least physically. Emotionally...as wrecked as you are, you haven't missed the shadows that are lie behind the smile he wears for you.

"El…?" Your voice comes out as a faint gasp, a bare stirring of the air. You can barely see through the sheen of tears that have appeared out of nowhere. You had cried so hard after he left that you thought you had no tears left to shed. Not for him. For yourself, maybe.

But this _can't_ be him. You have to be sleeping because the only time you've seen him is in your dreams. And it's killed you every time to wake up and realize it was just your head playing tricks on you.

The lines between reality and dreams blur real thin some days. And you wonder which world you're inhabiting half the time. Because so many nights you find yourself back in that beach house, back in that squad room two years ago...the past is as real to you now as the present is.

But you can't let yourself believe this is him because you had everything planned out in your head about what you would say, what would you do, if he ever came back. And you can't remember one single fucking thing.

"Liv." His voice is low, raspy and rough. Like sandpaper.

_Old friend, I've missed you the most._

And before _this is not a good idea _flashes through your head, you're in his arms. And they're solid and strong and exactly how you remember.

And tears come hard and fast. You haven't cried since those days in the beach house but now you do.

Because now you're safe.

And against your hair, as you hold tight to him, you hear his broken voice:

"_I'm sorry. I should have come sooner."_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Lyrics from 'Forgiven' by Within Temptation. Recognizable dialogue and characters are Dick Wolf's and NBC's.

Chapter 4: **We Are The Broken**

**_We are the broken ones. _**

**_The ones who walk and dwell in the empty places. _**

**_The ones who hide in shadow. _**

**_Away from all the open spaces._**

_You gave up the fight_  
_You left me behind_  
_All that's done's forgiven_  
_You'll always be mine_  
_I know deep inside_  
_All that's done's forgiven_

The slap echoes in the room with a sharp crack, almost like a gunshot. And you stare at your hand like it's completely foreign to you. El stands in your doorway, rubbing his face and his cheek is already turning red.

"You always did know how to pack a punch, Liv." He smiles at you ruefully, rubbing his cheek. And you're mortified by your loss of control. Of all the ways you pictured seeing him again, this was definitely not it.

First, you'd gone into his arms and cried.

Like you hadn't cried in years.

And then you'd slapped his face.

Really, you weren't on your game.

He doesn't look angry at you, though. There's a slight smile on his face. But he stays in your door way, not wanting to test your space without your invitation.

"You didn't come back." Was all that came out of your mouth in a whisper of hurt. "I waited for you and you _didn't come back_. You left me behind."

And all the anger, pain, and sorrow of the past two years…of the past few months... washes over you like a mighty tsunami. It's a deluge and you have to sink or swim. You find yourself buckling under the force of the impact because you've held it together for so long and all these unwanted memories are just poking at the chinks in your armor.

"I'm sorry." He says again quietly. And the lines around his eyes, around his mouth are deeper now, you notice. "I read about what happened in the papers. I should have come back a long time before now."

You have your arms folded across your chest as if to protect yourself. You still don't trust that this isn't some kind of hallucination or mirage - some trick of your battered mind to protect yourself from dealing with the torture inflicted on you by William Lewis.

And you don't want to talk about what he read in the papers.

"Why didn't you?" You mean for the question to come out angrily but instead it just comes out tired. So very tired. Like you. "Is this some kind of pity visit? Coming to see 'badass Benson' all broken and defeated? Sure you have. Everybody else has."

He doesn't respond and that enrages you. Not just irritates you but enrages you. But that's not unusual, you've been going from zero to sixty with everyone and it's no wonder they treat you with kid gloves. They see the banked anger.

"El, you do _not _get to do this." You snap. "You show up at my door after more than _two fucking years _of almost no communication. You do _not _get to hold out on me right now." Part of you feels a little guilty for snapping at him like that but that's quickly squashed when you remember those two very long years.

Two years of wondering where he was. _Who _he was. Questioning whether your partnership had been real at all since he had so easily walked away from it. He had had you questioning _everything _and, fuck if you were going to let him just pull that "I'm not gonna talk about it" shit that used to drive you crazy.

You and everybody else.

"Can I come in?" He asks slowly, tiredly. "It's a long story."

Still eyeing him warily, you open the door and he walks by you. And you smell that scent that's been lingering in your dreams so many nights. The clean, fresh scent of bar soap and a simple cologne. No complex fragrance for El. He always kept it simple.

You take a big gulp of your wine. Because you're pretty sure you're going to need it…and then some.

El doesn't miss the empty wine bottle on your coffee table. Or the one half drained beside it.

You see his eyes narrow slightly. And you bristle. Is he fucking judging you?

"Don't." You snap. "Just don't. You don't get to lecture me."

He raises his hands. "Wasn't going there, Liv. Of all people I'm the last to judge."

And just like that he takes all the wind out of your sails.

_How the fuck does he do it? _Elliot Stabler can make you so fucking angry in one moment but in the very next breath can completely disarm you.

That goddamned Stabler charm.

He sits down on your couch and you're just standing there, looking down at him. Not ready to let him near you. Not nearly ready. That hug at the door? Momentary lapse of sanity.

You blame that on Lewis too.

"That day when Jenna and Sister Peg died…" he starts slowly, softly, "it was rough on me, Liv."

"It was fucking rough on me too, Elliot!" You said angrily. "I was trying to keep Peg from bleeding out! And I couldn't."

_No, you are not going to goddamn cry. Not now. Not again._

"I know." He looks at you miserably. "God, didn't you know I _wanted _to come over there and help? But I couldn't leave Jenna. I had to try to save her. It was my bullet that took her down. I _had _to try to save her. And I failed."

He stares at his hands. And as hard as you're trying to stay impassive and unmoved, the look in his eyes kills you.

The thing about El is that he's always been easy for you to read. You knew him better than anyone, better even than Kathy. He usually could hide the pain from strangers, even from members of the squad. But not from you. _Never _from you.

You always knew when a case had hit him hard. Always knew when he had gotten too close.

You knew because you and he….well… blood and DNA have nothing on the closeness you two had.

"It wasn't your fault, Elliot." You finally sit down. "You didn't kill those men in the jail, you didn't kill Peg. That was all Jenna. You did what you had to do."

"She was just a kid, Liv. Just a kid." His voice breaks. "She shouldn't have had to die that way. And I couldn't save her."

"I know." You whisper, all your anger fading away like the morning fog. "But, El, you can't save them all. No one can."

"Just like I couldn't save you." He looks at you, really looks at you. And you wish you had put on a sweater because your arms are exposed and, well, Lewis had fun with them too.

"This isn't on you, El. You can't blame yourself for William Lewis."

"I wasn't there for you, Liv."

"No," you reply honestly, "you weren't. But even if you had been, it might not have made a difference. No use dwelling on the what if's - you know that. You need to stop with the fucking Catholic guilt, El."

He doesn't respond but continues to talk as if you've not said a word.

"You want to know why I didn't come back, Liv?" He looks at you, deep pain in his clear blue eyes. Pain that hurts you more than you can stand because it's the same kind of pain you see in the mirror. "After Jenna and Peg died, I started drinking. Not just two or three beers at night, y'know, the way I'd do with dinner every once in a while. I started drinking bourbon, whiskey, the hard stuff. I'd put it in my coffee in the morning. I'd carry a flask with me. I'd get drunk, real drunk, a lot. And Kathy and I just started fighting all the time because of the drinking. It was a constant thing. The kids would stay away because they just couldn't take it who I was turning into.

So Kathy…she made me go to counseling. But I just resented her for making me talk about the shit I didn't want to talk about. But I did it to keep up appearances and to try to fix things." He takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily.

"All it did was put a temporary bandage over the wound. I did okay for a while, really good… talked with Huang, with another counselor. But I still kept drinking. And then one night…" his voice breaks and trails off. And you see tears in his eyes and you ache for him.

Because you've also known the ghosts and shadows, the sleepless nights, the pain you try to tamp down with your wine. You're no stranger to the empty places that can't be filled. You live them, you walk them every day.

And you reach over and squeeze his hand.

He smiles faintly at you and, for a moment, the two of you are the way you used to be. In sync with one another. Not having to say a single word. Because it's all understood.

Maybe there's hope for the both of you after all.

"One night," he begins again, "the fight got really bad. Kathy told me that I needed rehab and that if I wasn't willing to go to rehab, she was gonna leave me and take Eli. Needless to say, I didn't take that well." And his eyes look into the distance, haunted with the memory of words harshly thrown into the air. "I told her to fuck off. That I didn't need her. Didn't need any of them."

"Oh, El…" you say softly.

"Eli was standing at the door, listening, the whole time." And a tear rolls down his face. "He was just looking at me so bewildered and he didn't understand. 'You don't love me, daddy?' he asked me. And I couldn't answer. _I couldn't fucking answer my own son."_

He chokes for a moment, putting his hand over his eyes.

"Kathy left that night. Packed up her stuff. Filed for divorce a few months later."

Elliot stares at the cup of water you've given him. "Couldn't blame her really. I hadn't been a good husband for years. Having Eli didn't solve the underlying problems. I'd shut her out so much that the refusal to go to treatment was just the final straw. We'd been crumbling for years and both of us refused to see it."

"How long has it been?" You ask.

"We've been divorced a year now." He shrugs.

As if seeing a question in your eyes, he smiles sadly. "And, yeah, I got help. Been in AA for almost a year now. Waking up in my own vomit was a big wake up call. I'm still trying to repair the damage to the kids."

"They'll forgive you." You say softly. "They love you."

"Do they?" The smile he gives you is twisted and bitter.

"Yes." You say firmly. "No matter what you have done, your family loves you. Kathy loves you."

"Yeah, because nothing says love like divorce." He says cynically.

"Sometimes there comes a time when even the ones that love us can't deal with the broken. It's a heavy burden for anyone to carry."

And you think of Cassidy.

_I love you, Liv. Always will._


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Recognizable dialogue Dick Wolf's and NBC's. Starred quote paraphrase of Robert Louis Stevenson. Bracketed passage indicate quotes from William Lewis.

A very grateful shout out to **cheertennis12** and **lucythespencer **without whose input this story would not be possible.

...

Chapter 5: **The Heavy Knuckled Man**

_When I looked at him, I saw a thousand empty rooms and, in each one, there he was, strangling a ghost._

_I would be lying if I said I didn't find this beautiful._

_Nothing is quite as stunning as the heavy knuckled hand of a man who has spent his life beating demons into the ground._

_\- _Unknown

"Why didn't you at least call?" You whisper, rocked by the things he's telling you. He's never been one to really open up and it drove you fucking insane. "I called you so many times. So many." It still hurts as you remember all those times you kept looking at your phone, kept it glued to your hip, waiting for the return call that never came.

"Liv, I couldn't." His eyes are troubled and sad as he looks off to a point in the distance.

"Something wrong with your vocal chords?" You bite off.

"I knew if I called you, we would talk about it, and then it would be real." He says simply.

This you understand.

_If you keep quiet, you can pretend that it's not real. That it never really happened._

_That it doesn't exist._

But you forget about the scars, the wounds. Those never disappear. They are a silent testimony to that which you pretend doesn't exist.

"And you know I've never been good at talking." He grins a little at you. But you're sad to see it's not a full smile. His eyes are still so sad, dusty and clouded over with memories.

"That's putting it mildly." You retort, but gentling your voice to take the sting out of your words. "I'm your partner, El." You say softly. "For better or worse."

"And the best one I ever had." He tells you, looking at you intently, a smile playing around his lips. He remembers when he told you that, so many years ago, when you were still finding your way.

But, again, it's a sad smile. The realization of how much time you both have lost and that the people you both were….well, neither of you will be those people again. So today is about the beginning of discovering who you both are now and learning each other all over again.

"I was just so tired, Liv. Twelve years. I had nothing left to give, even before...that shooting. I was losing myself in the job, losing my family..." he stares ahead blankly, "...although I lost them anyway." He finishes softly, a shimmer of what might have been tears glimmering in his eyes. But it's quickly gone so perhaps it was a trick of the light.

"Sit down, Liv." He says, "Enough about me. How are you?"

That's a loaded question. And, really, knowing what he now knows…how can he even ask you that?

How do you even begin to respond?

So you go with your first response, the one that comes so naturally to you these days. You've gotten quite adroit with bullshit.

"I'm fine."

"Liv, I might be damaged, bent a little, but I'm not stupid."

Of course he sees through you. He always has. One of the few people you could never lie to because he would call you out. But how do you even begin to really answer his question in such a way that he doesn't do something insanely stupid and go out and finish the job you started?

_My old partner, he would have known what to do_.

Edging closer to you on the couch, he looks at you with those blue eyes that see so much.

The eyes you used to see so many nights in your dreams until Lewis took their place. They're nothing but Lewis now.

"Liv, I am so sorry." He says and, although there are no tears in his eyes, there are tears in his voice. "I should have been there."

There's nothing you can say to that. The pain of his leaving is still so fresh, so raw, that you're not going to absolve him by excusing him. So you just stay silent, looking out into the New York night. Where the stars still shine brightly above the light of the street lamps. As they always do.

The world continues moving even as you stand still. That's just the way of it.

"I don't know if I can forgive you, El." It comes out as a pained whisper, your words steeped in the two years of hurt and anger. "You left me behind and never came back. Without one word." You turn to him and poke his chest with your finger.

"I know." He says. "I'm sorry."

No elaboration. Just a simple apology.

And it undoes you. He always knew how to do that. So easily.

You hear the sounds of gut-wrenching weeping and wonder where it's coming from.

And as you look out on the New York streets, you feel strong arms around you. It's then you realize that tears are running down your face and the one weeping is you.

{_He'll never come back for you, you know. That old partner of yours. The one you want to fuck. You know what's sad? That you still talk about him. Nothing more pathetic than a bitch that can't move on.}_

"You didn't tell them the whole story, did you?" Elliot asks you quietly in the wake of what he's told you.

"What are you talking about?" You shoot back sharply but you already know.

_Come on, _his look tells you, _you know better. We're past this, you and I, despite the last couple of years._

"I can't talk about it."

"Because you might have to testify."

"Because I _can't_." You turn your back to him, concentrating on just counting the stars through the window panes.

"Because if you do it becomes real." He throws your own words back at you.

"You have no right to interrogate me." You said heatedly. "You barge in here expecting things to be all the same, expecting us to be _us_ again. Well, you can't _do _that, Elliot! YOU left. YOU."

"And you have every right to be angry at me." Elliot says quietly. "You deserved better."

"That's right, I did!" You're shouting now but you don't care. You've held this in for so long. Held so many things in. Things you haven't dared tell anyone.

"And you didn't deserve to be raped."

It's like a gunshot and you freeze like you feel the bullet hit your heart.

"Liv." He turns you around, his hands gentle on your shoulders. "I was in Special Victims for twelve years. I know the signs. The glassy stare, the recoil, the hyperawareness."

You shrug yourself out of his grip.

"I think you've lost your edge, Stabler." You snap.

He just looks at you with a little bit of pity. And you realize that the more you protest, the more you're confirming his suspicions.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Oh, is this the special talk you give all the victims?" You don't know where all this, this _meanness_ is coming from. He hasn't raised his voice to you at all, hasn't acted like a know-it-all, has apologized, opened up and you're ripping his head off.

"You're a victim now?" He asks, no judgment, no sarcasm in his voice. Completely non-confrontational. This is a new side of El, one you've not seen very often, if at all.

He's so gentle.

"No. No. That's not what I'm saying, Elliot. Why do you have to twist everything?"

You're being hateful and you know it but you can't stop.

"He raped you." He repeats.

"Go to hell." But there's no force behind your response, you're just too tired.

"I know you, Liv. I still remember your face after Sealview." And the pity, the sorrow in his eyes breaks you.

"I couldn't protect myself. What kind of cop does that make me?" A tear rolls down your face.

"It makes you human, Liv."

"I couldn't...I couldn't stop him..." And the words that you've shoved down inside yourself, deep down into the valleys and shadows, finally start coming out.

"Did you know I can't even look at my service revolver?" You say dispassionately, picking at your sleeve. "Did you know that I had to be given a new one because the other one is being held as evidence of sexual assault?"

_Don't make me tell you what he did. Please don't make me tell._

El's fist flexes and his knuckles whiten.

"Did you know that it was covered with blood and vaginal fluid?" Your voice raises, choked with tears, with anger and rage.

"_**Four fucking days**_, EL. It took me _four fucking days_ to get away from him."

William Lewis couldn't break you but the rage and the pain in your former partner's eyes undoes you. He's hurting for you. Hurting that he couldn't be there.

Hurting that he couldn't have killed William Lewis for you. To spare you from going you to that dark place.

And you cry. You cry for the loss of the person you used to be, you cry for Lewis' other victims, you cry for two years of wasted time, all the things that you missed, and you cry because you can't see your revolver without remembering what Lewis did to you.

What used to be a symbol of pride to you just now reminds you of your complete degradation.

_How far the mighty have fallen_.

El doesn't say anything, he just pulls you into his arms and you start hitting him, beating him with your fists. He just takes it, takes your tears of rage and humiliation into himself. Trying to shoulder your pain.

_I will not suffer you to go your own dark way. *_

"Lay it on me, Liv." He whispers, stroking your hair.

_Why weren't you there for me? _ Punch.

_Why the fuck did you leave? _Punch

_Why weren't you there? _Punch

_Fuck you, William Lewis. _Punch.

He doesn't try to say anything else. Just holds you, his lips against your hair.

What can he say? What is there to say?

He knows you were raped.

With your own service revolver.

The ultimate humiliation.

"I would have fucking put a bullet in his brain." He says against your hair. "I still might. "

To your surprise, you let out a watery chuckle, "God, El, don't do that. I'd rather not have to visit you in prison."

_I need you. I've always needed you._

"_What happens when people open their hearts?"_

"_They get __better."_ _~ Haruki Marukami_


	6. Chapter 6

**_Disclaimer_**: Recognizable dialogue is not mine. Belongs to Dick Wolf and NBC as well as the characters. Lyrics to 'Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts. Underlined quote from **Crazy, Stupid, Love**.

**Author's Note**: Thank you for supporting my first EO story. It's been a wonderful journey!

Chapter 6: **Making Your Way Home**

**Her**: You_ know that place between awake and sleep. _

_That place you still remember dreaming. _

_That's where I'll always love you._

_That's where I'll be waiting... - _Tinkerbell

**Him:** "Well,_ it was a million tiny little things that,__when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together... _ _and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... _ _I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic. _\- Nora Ephron

...

"You don't have to tell me anything else." He finally breaks the long silence. "I shouldn't have pushed."

"No, you shouldn't have." You say wearily. "But you always do…_did_…that." You have to always stop yourself from talking about him in the present. Somehow your mind doesn't let you believe that your partnership is in the past. Nick occasionally hears you slip up but he doesn't give you grief about it.

More than many people, he understands the struggle of moving on. Of knowing when to let things go.

He's here now but how long is that going to last? You don't trust the good things. Somehow they always slip away from you. So you've learned not to count on them.

The ones that love you – they always leave. And the monsters? They always stay.

"How are the kids?" You ask even though he's already told you a little. You're not ready to keep talking about Lewis. He's never far from your mind, not for one single moment, so for a little time at least you want to talk about something else. Anything else.

"Growing like weeds. You wouldn't recognize Eli." He grins. "Wait, strike that, I think you would. He's the spitting image of Kathy. Got my eyes, though. And my attitude."

"That poor kid. Just what the world needs, another Elliot Stabler."

And he smiles, really smiles, as he remembers that other time when you told him those exact same words. Right after he had pulled you into his arms and you could feel his heart racing. Could smell his fresh clean scent…and his relief that Kathy, that his new baby son, that _you_, were all-right.

It's remarkable how these small moments crystallize so clearly in memory. And that they've become more precious to you than memories of your own family. Because, in many ways, Elliot was more your family than your mother ever was.

"The kids miss you, Liv." You're startled because you didn't even think the Stabler kids would even give you a second thought. Many times you knew you didn't imagine the resentment in their eyes, jealous of how close he was with you and not with their mother. Jealous of how much time he spent with you and not with them. Regardless of the fact that it wasn't by choice.

And you never blamed them for that.

How could you when they could never really understand? And you definitely could never explain to anyone else the bond the two of you shared. Because no one would understand how the two of you were _that_ close and never once slept together. Never once even kissed.

(Damn forehead kisses didn't count.)

_You're the longest relationship I've ever had with a man._

"Don't lie to me to make me feel better, Elliot Stabler." You snap because you don't want to believe him. The Stabler kids have been long out of your life now and you don't want to believe that they care because it would hurt you too much.

You've spent so much of your life _missing_ people. People who have walked out and never returned. Sometimes it's just easier to stop caring at all.

"Maureen was really pissed at me for never getting back in touch with you. She practically tore me a new one when I never went looking for you after your abduction. And Kathleen…she's never forgotten that you helped save her life. She's been clean for years now and she owes a lot of that to you."

…..**_Flashback_**….

_The sun is so bright. So damn bright, it's like a sword piercing his skull. And there's hammering too. So much hammering. At first, he thinks the hammering is all in his head but after a while he recognizes it as the knocking of the door._

_So he slides out of bed, slipping on a pair of pants and t-shirt and staggers to the door._

"_Goddammit to hell." He swears. That is the __**last**__ time he goes through a half bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey. He's always stuck to beer – cheap, easy, and you can find it everywhere. Like a whore turning tricks._

_He can hear thumping from the apartment next to his and somehow the scent of bacon wafts through the air ducts. His stomach churns. He does not want to think of food. Not now. Never again._

_The pounding gets louder…at the door and in his head._

"_I'm coming, dammit." He shouts._

_Opening the door, he shuts his eyes. Because the sun is so damn bright. How did he forget that the sun was that fucking bright?_

"_Dad?"_

"_Maureen?" He peers at her through blurred vision and the painful residuals of the world's worst hangover._

"_What the hell is wrong with you?" She says angrily, moving past him into his apartment._

"_Language, Maureen. I'm still your dad." He says gruffly._

"_Then why don't you start acting like it?" She responds angrily but her eyes are sad. "Dad," she says, looking around at the complete mess, "what are you __**doing**__? You_ _told Mom you'd stop drinking. __**And**__ you were supposed to be at Eli's game today."_

"_I did stop drinking." He protests, shame-facedly. "This was just...a slip. And I thought Eli's game was next week."_

_The look on her face clearly tells him she's not buying it._

"_Dad." Maureen is clearly frustrated but love's there too. "That's crap. You have to get yourself together. For Eli, for the rest of us! Come on, is this what _she_ would want for you?"_

_He doesn't have to ask who _she_ is. _

"_It's none of her business. And it's not yours either, Mo. Let it be." He mutters. _

"_Does she even know?" And Maureen had her_ _**don't play dumb with me**__ face on. He knows it well. Kathy's turned it on him plenty of times._

"_I haven't talked to her since I left the precinct." Elliot's not sure why he's even having this discussion with his oldest daughter but he's blaming it on the hangover and intense vulnerability. Tomorrow things will be back to normal._

_Back to where he's giving her life advice. Not where the shoe is on the other foot._

"_What the hell, Dad?" Maureen throws up her hands. "She was your partner, for God's sake! She was your __**friend**__. She was __**our**__ friend. She saved Mom and Eli too. And YOU, so many times! How could you just walk away from her that way?"_

"_I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE." He roared. "I HAD to walk away. For you, your mom, for ALL of you. I had to save our family. Everything..." he gets quieter..."it was all falling apart. Everything."_

_Maureen looks sad. "It was because you killed that girl, wasn't it? And don't give me that face – I'm not stupid. God, Dad, give me some credit. I'm your kid. Don't shut me out like you did to Mom all those times. I'm a big girl, I can handle it."_

"_But maybe I don't want you to _handle_ it. It's my job to protect you from all the shit in the world." _

_He sits down on the couch, kicking the empty bottle of Jameson away. Maureen picks it up and throws it in the trash._

"_Dad, you've got to make it right." She tells him and hands him some bottled water she had in her bag. "You can't keep doing this. I know you and Mom aren't together anymore but we're still your family. We all love you – even Mom - but this has got to stop. We need you. And __**she**__ needs you."_

"_She doesn't need me." Elliot says quietly. _

"_Yeah, Dad, she does. Do you even know what happened to her? Do you even care?"_

"_How can you ask me that, Maureen?! And, once again, this is none of your goddamned business." He yells._

"_That my dad's a falling down drunk IS my business." Maureen yells back. "Dad, you need to get your shit together. Make this all right. And don't you give me that __**watch your language**__ crap."_

_And she sits down next to him on the couch. "She needs you, Dad."_

_Elliot looks at his older daughter. "I'm sorry, Mo."_

"_Then make it right." She tells him, putting a hand on his arm. "Stop drinking. Talk to Olivia."_

"_I just don't want her to see me this way." He's so broken and it kills him that his baby – no, she's really not a baby anymore – can see it. He used to be so good at hiding these things. Or maybe he wasn't and they could always see how the job hurt him but pretended they didn't notice._

"_How did you get so smart, Maureen?" He smiles a little, eyes sad._

"_I don't know. But I'm pretty sure the smarts are all from Mom." And Maureen grins, ignoring the intimidating glare El shoots her way._

"_So," she leans over and gives him a big hug, "what are you going to do?"_

…_...**End Flashback**..._

Your heart breaks. It kills you that things had gotten that bad for him. And you hadn't been there to help.

Because he hadn't let you.

_Goddamn you, Elliot Stabler. _

You try to ignore that pesky little voice in the back of your head.

{_Remember that old adage of throwing stones at glass houses, Olivia._}

"They really do care about you, Liv. They always have. Maureen got me to see straight. Haven't had a drink in months."

Despite these encouraging words, his eyes are sad.

Sad for what you've been through, sad that he couldn't save you, sad for all the time that both of you have missed because he was too fucking stubborn to call out for help. Too fucking stubborn to open up to you.

Again.

The more things change, the more things still stayed the same.

You both are so broken. And how are you supposed to navigate this new world, one that's so very unfamiliar and familiar at the same time?

By his presence here, what he's told you, he's asking you for a second chance.

An opportunity to make things right.

Right now, you're standing at a crossroads, one road that's completely familiar – you know its twists and curves so very well, know all its pitfalls and detours - and one that has some of the familiar ways but, in many ways, is totally new.

The choice is yours.

And you turn to him.

"I missed you, El." Just saying the words hurts. They're shards of glass piercing your throat and your heart and you're bleeding all over again from the cuts and wounds that never healed and got reopened by Lewis' taunts over your helpless body.

You had to save yourself because he wasn't there for you. Hadn't been there for a long time.

Can you get past that?

"I realized something else when Maureen kicked my ass." He says slowly, looking at you with that same tenderness he's always looked at you. Yet there's something else in his eyes. Something else that you had dreamed of seeing there for so long.

**_I should have fought for you. _**

But you don't want to admit what it is to yourself because good things have been so illusionary for you. And this present reality is so fragile that you don't want it to shatter.

_I'm so scared._ _What if you leave again and I break? And can't be put together?_

_**Elliot put his papers in**_

He moves closer to you and, hesitantly, puts his hand on yours. They haven't changed and you wonder why you expected them to; maybe you were expecting him to be a totally different man? But, no, he's still your partner.

Still the one you spent so many waking hours of your life with.

_**They're too close**._

The one who knows you. Almost more than you know yourself.

**_You know everything about me_**_._

You hurt from his leaving, you hurt from the breaking.

**_I heard about Stabler, about the shooting. Is he coming back?_**

_But when you touch me, it's like coming home._ _And I never want to leave. _

_You are my home. Am I yours?_

You expect him to say "I missed you too" or something like but, instead, something you never thought you'd hear comes out instead:

**"**I love you, Liv. I've always loved you."

...

And it feels so right. The one thing that has in a very long time.

Everything in your life has felt so very out of place, so off-kilter, even before Lewis. You've managed to soldier on because you're resilient and you're tough. But it's felt like everything has just been a matter of survival.

**_I haven't thrived there. Not in a long time._**

You used to laugh at those people who talked about missing a piece of themselves. You'd snort and say it was ridiculous, that people are complete all on their own, they don't need someone else.

You could survive without Elliot. But you haven't thrived without him.

He's the piece that you've been missing.

...

And the two of you stay silent for hours. After his declaration, in a very uncharacteristic show of timidity, El almost shrinks into himself.

And you understand that. He's put himself out there - after walking out on you. Made himself completely vulnerable in a way he would not have years ago. It's then that you know there's a chance for the both of you.

For two wounded souls to find healing again.

It'll be a long road for the both of you but all of a sudden the unknown road isn't so scary anymore. Because he's with you.

So you turn to him and you touch all the memories he left with you when he left.

"I love you too. I've always loved you."

...

And he slides close to you, touches your cheek. And his hands, craggy, calloused, scarred, are soft against your face. You close your eyes and lean into him. And, finally, after fifteen long and lonely years, you kiss.

His lips are soft and firm against yours. He doesn't push you too hard; he knows you've been through hell. But you taste the years on his mouth and it's a mix of bitter and sweet.

You've both had to wait so long for each other and been broken on the journey.

And you start kissing him back. Your hands reach for the collar of his shirt and you bring him to you.

His tongue gently slides into your mouth and you can't, you just don't want to stop kissing him.

But he doesn't try to touch you. Not yet. He just kisses you, like you're the first person he's ever kissed and the last one he's kissed and all the others in between.

_-I've waited so long for you. So long. Why did you leave me?-_

_-I had to walk away. To save my sanity, to save my soul. Which I almost lost anyway. Because I wasn't with you. -_

_-Why didn't you call? What was the real reason? Because you know I would have been there for you._

_-I didn't want to tell you I loved you. I had to try to save my family. To keep them together. -_

_-And now?-_

_-I still want to keep them together. But you're my family too, Liv. _

You whisper to him that you're scared.

_-I haven't done this. Not in a long, long time. Not really.-_

And he says he understands.

_-Look at this old man. Starting over again after twenty plus years. You think I'm not scared? Not damaged?-_

Both of you are wounded. But now you're not alone to bear the wounds.

He's come back to you.

Then El kisses you. For the second time. And it's fierce and it's hot and it's everything.

_I love you. I've always loved you._

Nuzzling his nose with yours, you smile, truly smile for the first time in years, for the first time since Lewis.

You've finally come home.

_Every long lost dream led me to where you are_  
_Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars_  
_Pointing me on my way into your loving arms_  
_This much I know is true_  
_That God blessed the broken road_  
_That led me straight to you_


End file.
